


The Blood and the Milk

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), COVID-19, Coronavirus, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Lactation, Multi, Other, POV Gabriel (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: After tandem teleporation, Gabriel has three questions that need answering. Beelzebub has needs, as well.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Sandalphon (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	The Blood and the Milk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Renegade_Reaper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renegade_Reaper/gifts).



> CW: referenced rape, lactation
> 
> If I missed something, let me know.

New Orleans, a heartbeat after leaving the beach

* * *

Tandem teleportation was a rumor. A thing believed to exist, that could theoretically exist, but not a thing Gabriel had ever experienced, nor wanted to.

It was a dangerous thing, reducing two beings to base molecules in one place and recoagulating into people somewhere else. The few angels who held opinions on it never tried it.

Gabriel included.

But, there had been no other way to extract both of them from Sandalphon. That restraining collar held him fast and he wasn't able to escape it.

Beelzebub had done what needed to be done, and done it without hesitation. Ah, but they had always been brave.

He did not know if they’d had a similar experience to his, if they’d shared the memory that suddenly came to him just after he watched them trick Sandalphon into releasing them. It had been the only time he’d seen them in the Garden, before their Fall. When they were still Remiel, the smallest (and most dangerous) of the Archangels.

Had they been inside his head? Because he’d been inside theirs.

He’d felt how frightened they’d been, up until the fight started. Then, how their fear had rolled off of them, replaced by something colder. Something that ticked and calculated. Something beyond bravery.

A seed of the demon that they would become.

Gabriel remembered how confused that confrontation had left him. Michael had been playing, hadn’t she? But when did Michael’s play not end in someone getting stabbed?

Moreover, why did watching the little Archangel’s victory cause his legs to stiffen and his mouth to run dry? That question had haunted Gabriel for centuries after that afternoon in the Garden. It had taken him ages to name the feeling that washed over him as he watched Remiel’s powerful mastery, their calm domination of the fiercest fighter that Heaven ever produced. Ages to understand what he wanted from them, and had wanted since he'd watched them defeat Michael.

Spending that day inside their head had been a strange experience. Feeling how eager they were to please their mentor, how angry they were at Michael for daring to challenge a healer, to waste resources by demanding to fight to discorporation. And their deep satisfaction when she yielded. Finally yielded.

Most surprising, though, had been the warm curiosity that Remiel felt for him. Not dry-mouthed desire, but a certain wary interest. Something that could have been more, had it been fostered.

And then, just as quickly as the memory began, it ended.

Gabriel’s hands and knees found purchase on the thick duvet. He had no idea where he was, but it smelled like Beelzebub. Like green and growing things.

He knew that the little Prince was with him. He felt them return from their swarm, arms around him. Their skin was so cold.

He looked up, still reeling from the confrontation at the beach. From the very odd experience of seeing one of his memories from another angle.

Three questions spun round and round in his head. Where are we? What just happened? Are you okay?

His eyes found theirs in the near-dark. They looked concerned. He reached for them, for their sweet face.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The most important question.

Beelzebub nodded, but Gabriel could feel their tears slipping between his fingers. He released them and sat up, opening his arms to them. They went to him, settling in his lap. They were so very cold. He tried to rub his warmth into them, into their back and arms. He gave up, as it didn’t seem to be working. Instead, he rocked them in his lap, feeling the cold trickle of their tears as they traced down his chest.

“Still cold-blooded?” his memory of Pestilence mocked. “That must be...inconvenient.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, holding each other. His hands began to wander over their skin. Checking. Checking for what? He wasn’t the healer.

He found the smear of blood that still decorated their chest. Lower, their nipples were crusted with dried milk. He reached, unthinking, for one of them.

They flinched.

“Sorry,” he said, swiftly. Inadequately. “He wanted you lactating?” he asked, peeling flakes of milk from their skin.

“A demon is always to be useful,” Beelzebub replied. Their voice was flat, the words automatic. “A demon is always to earn her bread. A demon is to give everything of her body when it is demanded.”

The flakes melted on his fingers. The milk had not dried, it had frozen. Curiosity being as wicked for angels as it was for cats and humans, Gabriel brought his fingers to his lips.

Sweet. They tasted sweet.

Beelzebub watched him.

“It...uh...it froze. On you.”

“I know. So did the blood.”

They flicked a wrist and a low light winked on. They were in a bed, Beelzebub’s bed. A big, ebony-wood four poster. The posts that nearly brushed the ceiling were carved with roses, chrysanthemums, posies, and camellias. The flowers looked full-bloomed and lush. Insects, wrought in wood, crept over the petals, or flew past them. Two iron wall lamps hung above the headboard, providing the warm, golden light that spilled over them.

Beelzebub’s eyes were still wet. But they held their head high and did not flinch away from his gaze.

They were still in the form that Sandalphon had forced them to create. Larger breasts, thicker in the thighs and hips (now that he got a good look at them.) The crusted blood that trailed down their chest was blacker than pitch in the lamplight. The frozen milk looked like golden scales across their nipples. And the hair that they’d grown between their legs gleamed as if it had been polished.

Briefly, he longed to touch them there, but did not. They might not forgive that as easily as they’d forgiven him for his transgression with their nipples.

Instead, he ran a gentle thumb over their collarbone, just above the healing slit that Nuriel had left there.

“Nuriel shouldn’t have cut you.”

That wild, feral half-smile bloomed across their face. “Of course not, but I knew she would. Much as she HATEZZ me.”

“You...wanted...her to cut you?”

“Yezz. Just like that, Nuriel voided every contract that I signed. Every treaty. All of it.” They pulled his face down and kissed him. “What I did to Nuriel and to Sandalphon would have been an act of war, otherwise.”

“What...exactly...did you do to them?” His second question. What happened?

“Those coins are made of Pestilence’zz blood. It’s a purer form of Covid-19,” they said, tracing their cold fingers across his forehead and then down his cheek, to his lips. “I accelerated the virus once it was inside Nuriel.”

“That’s terrifying.”

Beelzebub smiled up at him. A sweet, eager smile.

“You’re terrifying,” Gabriel amended.

“You like that about me. Apparently.”

“I do,” he said, and kissed them. “So you went back to the Garden, too?”

“Tandem teleportation is weird,” Beelzebub said. “I’ve done it before, with Dagon. Part of the research that Belphegor was doing on teleportation. We shared a memory of the war, Dagon and I...” They paused. “This wazz...more intimate...if you went to the same place that I did.”

“At the waterfall in Garden?”

They nodded.

“When Michael challenged you?”

They nodded again.

“So you were inside of me and I was inside of you, right?”

“That’s how it works,” Beelzebub said. “It’s not a temporal anomaly, precisely. From the research that Hell has done on it, it seems to be an effect of mixing essences--which happens maybe one out of twenty tandem teleports. If the person doing the teleportation is agitated, it’s more likely to happen. We don’t know the exact mechanisms, not even Belphegor, and spacetime anomaly is his wheelhouse.” They paused. “You always go to a shared memory. Usually one that’s particularly emotionally charged.”

“‘Emotionally charged,’” Gabriel repeated. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“I’d forgotten how intense you were that day,” they said. “It was...nice...after Sandalphon.” They shuddered.

Gabriel’s hands fell on their head, stroking their hair. There was so much of it now. They wore it almost like a garment, draped over their back. Their skin was still cool. Beelzebub sank into him, allowing his hands to roam over them. He needed to touch them, to soothe them.

They seemed to need his care as much as he needed to give it to them.

“Where are we?” His first question, and probably the least important. He was with them. Did it matter where?

It mattered. He needed to know that they were safe.

“We’re in New Orleans,” Beelzebub said. “It reminds me of Ekron, so I keep a place in the city. We’re safe here. I don’t think Sandalphon’s capable of going through property records to find out what property I own, and I doubt that he’d be able to figure out what the humanzz call me these days.”

“What do the humans call you?”

“Remy LaFleur.”

“That’s adorable,” Gabriel said, pressing his nose in Beelzebub’s hair and inhaling.

_Safe._ They were safe.

Everything else was immaterial.

He tipped their head up and kissed them, feeling their tongue begin to warm against his own. Feeling their cool, sluggish blood rise up in them, darkening their cheeks and fattening their lips. His mouth found their neck, the delicate line of their collarbone, and the blood that had melted beneath. He licked his lips. Copper, salt, and sweet. Intoxicating.

“More?” he asked.

They nodded, and he slid them (carefully, gently) from his lap. Gabriel laid them down, on the thick duvet. The material glimmered, quilted velvet in dark jewel tones. Shadows of onyx and ruby, emerald and sapphire. Beelzebub’s fair skin, gold-tinged in the lamplight, shone against it.

They were so lovely, blue eyes wide and waiting. Their mouth open slightly, flick of tongue across dry lips. Anticipation.

And, as before, a frisson of fear.

Gabriel wanted to know the particulars. He wanted to know how many times it had happened, what was done, and who was there. He wanted to know their pain as intimately as he had known their pleasures. But now...

Now, they were allowing him, perhaps, to heal some of the hurt.

Gabriel laid beside them, as they had been on the beach. Him up on one elbow, looking down on them. One of their hands rose, like a bird taking flight, and brushed his face. He kissed their palm, then took their hand in his and kissed the inside of their wrist. Gabriel tucked their hand away, just beside them, and bent his head down to the task of cleaning the blood from Beelzebub’s chest. Their skin was warming, but the blood that thawed had also dried. It broke apart and melted on Gabriel’s tongue. He began where Nuriel’s steel had entered his demon, tongue darting across the dried rivulet. Beelzebub whimpered as he kissed the blood from them.

He followed the trail down, to the swell of their breast. Their skin was warming under his lips. He nipped them gently and was rewarded with a gasp.

“More?” he asked, meeting their eyes. He did not dare trespass further without permission.

“They’re...they’re zztill full...” they said, nervously.

Beelzebub reached a hand to themself, and squeezed. A bead of milk gathered at the nipple, threatening to spill, to trace a path to their torso and down to the duvet.

“You want it, don’t you?” they asked.

Gabriel felt the blood creep into his cheeks. He shouldn’t want that.

But he did.

“I don’t want to do anything...bad. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt...unless you bite me.”

“I don’t want to take anything that you don’t want to give me.”

The words spilled out of him. How desperately did he want to touch them, to taste every part of them. But he wasn’t Sandalphon, and he’d never regard Beelzebub as livestock. He hungered for everything that the demon chose to give him, and not one inch more.

They regarded him, head cocked slightly on the pillow, their wide eyes now free of any fear. Gabriel had seen that look on their face many times over the years. At every banal and useless meeting, at every contract negotiation. It was the curious look they’d worn on their face when they were preparing Michael for her burial.

He knew what that look meant. Beelzebub was sizing him up. Deciding what they wanted from him, and how to obtain it.

_I would do anything for you_ , he thought.

He’d never been the type to hide his intentions, so he told them, “Anything you want, Beelzebub. I just want it to be good for you.”

They smiled, a warm and sated smile. “Then make it good for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's a bit of a cliffhanger, but the next chapter is where I put the smut.
> 
> So, updates have not been flowing smoothly because we ended up fostering three kittens. They're about two weeks old, two boys (one black and one ginger) and a girl (dark tortie calico). 
> 
> (I was already planning on having Beez in Ineffable Teens actively fostering kittens, so it's nice to have a refresher. Not the best for my sleep schedule, but I digress.)
> 
> That's probably the best reason ever to not regularly update.
> 
> HOWEVER, the next chapter is written and will definitely be posted as soon as I edit.
> 
> I don't think I mentioned it, but Nuriel is the angel of hailstorms.
> 
> Comments and kudos build a little birdhouse in my soul! Concrit welcome!


End file.
